That time I got tired

I’m the restless kind. The type of people who do one thing, get so high by it, give it everything, then get bored, so bored; it’s like depletion and then want something bigger. I’m that type.

I’ve probably gotten tired more than a dozen times in this year. Bored of many different things. But, this time, I was so tired I was nagging, sulking and hating. It is a bad place. Such a bad place.

So, I went back to reading.

I’m the reading kind. The type of people who feel like when shit hits the fan, there’s someone else who’s gone through it and has written something about the experience and how they dealt with it. I’m that type.

I do this all the time. Sometimes it’s Job, or it’s Paul or maybe Joseph. Other times, it’s a self help book, and then more often than not, it’s a blog I stalk. There are some people who write so well I want to live in their houses and watch how they type out such awesome stuff. Some of these people make me feel like they are my kindred spirit. Others, inspire the hell out of me, I just sit and say “I want to be like you when I grow up” inwardly. Only problem now is I’m grown already.

So, I chose James. James Altucher.

I’m the probing kind. The type of people who dig and know so much about people but always look aloof like they know nothing. It’s really an interesting thing. I’m that type.

I stumbled on James four years ago. I was serving in Bayelsa, getting a hang of broadcasting. I was in that place where I was so into it, I knew I was going to get bored in a little. I thought I could find a new thing to get me going that I’d incorporate somehow. I realized I was into getting people’s stories, knowing what they were about, how they moved from here to there, what made them tick, how they made certain choices, figuring them out… so, because I’m the reading kind, I started to look for people who did that sorta stuff, and I stumbled on him somewhere in the mix. I had read so many random things back then, I couldn’t get over him.

The thing about James is, he writes on a lot of different stuff and somehow intertwines it to his life with such fearless honesty. It’s everything. Plus , he’s had (and written about ) so many down times – with random humor thrown in – it’s hard to not want it.

So, I chose him.

I’m the bookmarking kind. The type of people who read something so legit, they want to keep it for their next generation to read too. Sometimes, I bookmark stuff ’cause I read it too fast and didn’t mull over it like I wanted to. Other times, because I’d need to jot stuff out later. I’m that type.

So, that time I got tired, I needed help. Not the talking to ease things out type; the stable daily conscious effort that leads to an all round change type. I went back to my bookmarks to find this post I’d loved and kept because I hadn’t mulled over it or jotted stuff. Then, I wrote down the take outs in my notepad, set up alarms and reminders in my calendar. Made a real pact to work it out.

I’m becoming the doing kind. The type of people who write stuff down and get stuff done. I’m – becoming – that type.

P.S.: While I was wrapping this up, my friend pops in to talk about something she’d just found – Miracle morning routine. I did a quick search on it and find James already has a post up on it. I love James. Love.

Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it – Charles R. Swindoll

Happiness is a Journey


It’s physical, like a continuous stroll

You’re on this never ending stroll with yourself, your thoughts, your mind

And with each stride you have to constantly find something to delight you; on the pathway, from your memory, from somewhere

Even when it’s not there


The stroll can sometimes be uppity and you break into a run

The air in your face, your body releasing endorphins in gorgeous amounts

And with each release you know your day will be bubbly, just because

Even when you don’t feel like it


Other times you’re just so weak

You’re crawling, tears streaming down, baring your soul to Him

And with every gasp; you’re asking for your light to brighten up, for your joy to fill up again

Even when it feels so far off


Happiness is a journey, it’s like a continuous stroll

You’re on this never ending stroll with yourself, your thoughts, your mind

And with each stride you have to constantly find something to delight you; on the pathway, from your memory, from somewhere

Even when it’s not there.

The thing about writing

Whatever it does for you, whatever feeling it brings to you, whatever height of creativity it makes you feel, transcends across subjects.

This realisation is far more than rubies, for me, right now.

Writing has always been the easiest way to express the things in my head, and, there are a lot of things in there, all the time.

I started writing here; channelling one of the many things in my head, and it basically helps me voice out my distinct thoughts on brands and marketing.

What’s not to love?




Of Salvation

I’d said I’d write today, for no genuine reason, just because I haven’t in a while. I hadn’t even considered what I’d write about till now.

I’m on the last bus home and the oh-so-familiar line everyone who buses in Lagos knows, pops in just before the bus even starts moving.

“Praise the Lord”

I am a Christian (oh! I fall every now and then, but the Lord loves me so hard!) and I cannot overemphasize how there is all the difference when you trust and believe in Jesus. I want to tell the world about this relationship and get people to come experience the goodness, but somehow, these preachings never ever resonate with me.

Here is why;

We need to move from telling people to come to Jesus because of the existence of hell. Motivation to accept Jesus should never be of the fear of hell. Like jeez! It makes me cringe everytime. Hell is real, yes, but it’s not a good enough reason.

People need to be told of love and sacrifice and how a “man” came only to die for them, even before their being and how he loves them so unconditionally!

If that’s not good enough reason, I don’t know what is.

Stages of Desperation

Every time I want something, something I cannot readily reach in my resources to get, something that my getting depends on someone else’s feelings or emotions or mood or choice, I have these mini panic attacks in phases.

I. Hate. It.

Say for example, I wanted to get an A in a particular course (for some highly unnecessary reason in retrospect, and this was always the case when I was in school), I’d calculate how many marks I needed to hit the grade, then I’d look at the questions and choose the ones I knew I could attempt exceptionally well and then I’d give it my best shot.

But, as with everything else in life, my best shot being a best shot is still dependent on someone’s state of existence. If he just had the perfect date with his girlfriend, all the letters in my paper would be singing a melodious song to his ears; I get that damned A!

However, if it was a bad date or an itch he can’t reach to scratch, or even worse, his lunch was not palatable; the plausibility of getting that A starts to shake like this. Like that.

So then – amongst many other things that I pray for – I’d need to pray that my script gets into the marker’s hands when he’s in high spirits and of cheerful character. I have to go further and pray for every one he comes in contact with, that they make him extra happy.

I. Do. Not. Like. This.

It was a lot easier to deal with these panic attacks and disappointment as a student, as a mini-adult, trying damn hard to be a real adult, it’s different. It’s hard. It shakes the foundations of all the good things your parents told you growing up!

“You’re smart. You’re bright. Everyone who comes in contact with you would want you! You write so well. Your dreams are big, they’ll take you places…”

– Yes mom, so why didn’t I get a chance?! –

After a few rejections, my mind – of its own accord – started to build easier ways to deal with it.

I. Hate. It.

First, I take a chance. While I’m at it, I’m like; no harm in trying. I get called or not, it’s not a big deal. It could work out, you never know till you try. Tra la la. *lowkey noting the day to expect a response*

Stay Positive.
*One week to the day to get a response*
Don’t think about it, you’ll get called, you’ll get in. Remember, you’re smart, you talk intelligently, you write well! What’s not to love? You’ll get it. Stay positive. Trust God. If you don’t get in, no biggie, God has better plans! But, but, God, I’d like to get it…get called…

*Three days to the day to get a response *
God see, I know I’ve been forming low key, but you know I need to get this. It’s in sync with my aspirations. It’s a chance to do this and that. I promise I’d use it to help other people. I wouldn’t waste the opportunity. Oh please let it be your will too. Hay God, I really want this *mini weeping*.


*One day to the day to get a response*

My stomach is on auto pilot. It’s rumbling a lot and I’m not even sure why. Suddenly, I’m farting a lot – airy odorless farts. I say I ate something. I know it’s anxiety :(

*Hours to the response*
God if you’ll give it to me, it’s mine, if you won’t, I know it’s not your will. I’ll understand. *weeps a little more than expected*

*Response time comes, passes, I don’t get an acceptance email or a courtesy sorry email! They just leave me hanging like this. Like that!*

I. Just. Can’t.

I’ve started farting.